Her hands are all over me. She tugs at my shirt, and when she slips her hand underneath it, she scrapes her nails down my chest before boldly palming the thick ridge of my erection through my pants. She squeezes, and I curse, my hips jerking into her touch.
“Inside,” I mumble against her neck. “We need to go inside.”
“Why?” She breathes, her hands working on my belt. “No one can see us.”
I growl, kissing her fully as she slips her hand into my jeans and grasps my cock.
“If I fuck you against this wall,” I say against her lips, “the whole damn ship is going to hear you screaming my name.”
She gasps, her eyes darkening. “Maybe I want them to.”
Fuck it.
I hoist her up, and her legs wrap around my waist, her ankles locking behind my back. I carry her inside, kicking the door shut behind us. The room is dark, lit only by moonlight, and the second I lay her on the bed I’m on top of her, covering her body with mine.
She arches her back, rubbing her center against my cock through our clothes, desperate for friction. I shove her T-shirt up and latch onto one breast, sucking hard and flicking my tongue over her nipple while my hand squeezes the other.
Her fingers thread through my hair, holding me there as she whimpers.
“Zach,” my name comes out breathlessly. “Please.”
I release her nipple with a wet pop and look down at her flushed face. “Please what?” I grind my hips slowly against her, letting her feel every inch of how hard I am. “Use your words, Honeycomb.”
“I need you inside me.” She tugs at my shirt, trying to get it off. “I need you. Now.”
I sit back, yank my shirt off, and her hands are immediately on me, greedy and reverent. When her fingers brush over the honeybee tattoo on my left pec, she freezes for a second, taking it in.
“I didn’t know you got this, too,” she whispers.
“Got it after you told me you were leaving St. Michael’s.” Her eyes connect with mine, her eyes widening. “It’s you,” I say roughly, catching her hand and pressing it harder against my chest, right over my thundering heart. “It’s always been you.”
Her eyes water, but before the tears can fall, I’m kissing her again.
I take my time undressing her. Sliding that T-shirt over her head, revealing inch by inch of skin I've memorized but missed desperately. Her shorts and panties come next, and when she's finally bare beneath me, I just look at her.
“What?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious.
“You're so fucking beautiful it hurts.”
She reaches up, cupping my face. “Then stop staring and do something about it.”
I don't need to be told twice.
I kiss her neck, working my way down, sucking and biting until she’s squirming and panting.
“Zach—” Her hands are in my hair, tugging hard enough that it stings. “Stop teasing.”
I chuckle against her skin. “But you're so pretty when you’re desperate.”
She glares at me, but it's undercut by the way her hips are rolling, seeking friction that isn't there. I grin and continue my path downward, kissing across her stomach, her hip bones, the inside of her thighs.
When I settle between her legs, she's already wet. Glistening, and perfect.
I glance up at her, making sure her eyes are on me, and drag my tongue in one long, slow lick from her entrance to her clit.
Her reaction is immediate. Her back bows off the bed, her thighs try to clamp around my head, and she makes this broken, desperate sound that I want to record and play on repeat for the rest of my life.
“Fuck—Zach—”
